


made from love

by thewalrus_said



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, M/M, Parenthood, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 10:10:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19944448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/pseuds/thewalrus_said
Summary: Parents aren't supposed to have favorite children. She's never been a very good parent, though.





	made from love

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of me proclaiming CROWLEY IS GOD'S FAVORITE CHILD in a set of Tumblr tags, and then sitting and thinking about it for a while.

She still remembers - She will never forget - the pain of parthenogenesis, of carving out a selection of Her own cells and reforming them, of birth spent all alone. She’d been all alone, and so She had gone through the agony and the ecstasy of childbearing, just to end Her solitude. It had been worth it, She thought, cradling Her first angel to Her chest, but next time She would make it easier on Herself. She wasn’t alone anymore, after all.

Now, She sits in Her chair under Her blanket, and watches Her children play. They’re not very kind, Her children, and they don’t play well together, but She doesn’t interfere. They can’t break anything that matters, they cannot bring to an end anything that She can’t start again. So She lets them play in the world She built for them, Heaven and Earth. (They built Hell themselves. She’s never been very good at environments, She always makes them too small, so Her children created an annex to spread out in. She’s proud of them.)

Prayers pile up on the desk in the corner. By now She’s set up all Her filters, sending as many as possible to Her children to handle, and Her eldest, the Metatron, comes by every week to sort through the rest and take a selection for himself, but still they pile up. She wants to deal with them, She _aches_ to deal with them, but every time She rouses Herself from Her chair and walks over, another dozen land on the pile and She just _can’t_. So She goes back to Her chair, goes back to watching.

The Metatron comes by, sorts through the pile. “There’s a fad,” he tells Her. “Someone on Earth’s published a book on soulmates and some demon or other’s made it a bestseller. People are praying for soulmates left and right these days.” His eyes meet Hers. “That’s a little above the angels’ pay grade, so I can’t take them. More will come.” He casts a meaningful glance at the ever-growing stack on Her desk, and then looks back at Her. She shrugs, pulling the blanket up to settle over Her shoulders. He sighs and leaves.

Soulmates. Where that concept had come from, She’s never been able to tell. She’s only ever made two. One set, and they don’t even know it.

That’s not true. One of them knows it, and the other is beginning to. She adjusts Her gaze and focuses in on them. They’re in a small cottage in the South Downs, overseeing movers carrying a large, comfortable-looking armchair. Big enough for two, if one’s on the other’s lap. She laughs to Herself.

Later, that night on Earth, the one who knows goes out into his new back garden and looks up at the sky. She’s not in the sky, and he knows that, but six thousand years among humanity and he’s started to pick up their metaphors. Heaven is up, Hell is down, and She must be in Heaven. (She isn’t, but that’s fine. He’s looking at Her anyway. He always is.)

Her child starts to talk. She listens. She always listens to him. He doesn’t say much, this time. Some of his prayers can go on for hours, but this one is simple: “Let him stay,” he says, staring up at the stars. “Let me keep this.” He goes back inside.

Silly demon, She thinks fondly. He doesn’t need Her for that. When She’d made the two of them, She’d crafted them to be at the peak of need for each other at the time of the First Armageddon Incident, desperately longing for their other half, passionate enough to save the world. They’d done admirably, and now their innate natures aren’t inclined to keep them apart. They’ve spent time as each other, enough to blur the lines. They’ll stay together, for as long as time lasts.

Parents aren’t supposed to have favorites, but as God watches Crowley go inside and greet his Aziraphale, She thinks that She’s never been that good of a parent anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me on [Tumblr](http://thewalrus-said.tumblr.com)!


End file.
